


Empty Canvas

by Rotpeach



Series: The Great Tumblr Rehoming of 2018 [29]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Objectification, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/pseuds/Rotpeach
Summary: You struggle to meet Sano's expectations.





	Empty Canvas

Sano insists that you remain limp and pliable in his hands as he dresses you, sliding the soft, sheer fabric of lacy undergarments up your legs. 

“This is how it’s going to be after the procedure,” he murmurs. “You’ll have to depend on me for everything.”

You shift uncomfortably over a sea of soft bed sheets, stiff and frightened, because he didn’t give you any muscle relaxant or even something to induce paralysis. He is asking you to practice. He is trusting you to do exactly as he says. 

The scalpel flashes in his right hand in the low lighting and you swallow nervously, afraid that you aren’t ready for this.

“Doesn’t that make you happy?” he asks, and there is a hint of warmth in his voice despite how cold his eyes are. “Relying upon someone else is the ultimate expression of trust and affection. And I will care for you.” He drags his nails along your inner thigh. “But you will have to earn that.” 

Carefully, with a hand on the small of your back, he urges you to sit upright

(as though you are a fragile thing of glass or porcelain)

and pulls you into his lap, the warm, pulsing flesh of his cock pressing against you. He runs the scalpel across your collarbones with precision and steady hands, pushing just hard enough to leave a line across your skin, just the hint of his presence on your body. “For every mistake you make,” he tells you, “I’m going to make you bleed.”

(but he clearly knows you are not so easily broken)

“I’m going to make slow, deep incisions in sensitive areas.” He moves the blade up the side of your body, carefully avoiding the lace. “The excruciating pain should serve as a good incentive to follow my orders to the letter.”  

You’re shaking, you know you are, you feel sweat sliding down your skin as you struggle to stay completely still because he hasn’t told you to move yet. He’s watching you, his eyes appraising as they rove over your body, and you’re waiting to feel something sharp and painful but there’s only terrible anticipation right now.

He slides his hand along the curve of your back. “Are you afraid?” he whispers.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He tongues at the shell of your ear and nips at the lobe, pleasure giving way to pain when he bites down more harshly than you expect. “Because you aren’t going to make any mistakes.”

You shake your head, no, no you will not make any mistakes, he wants perfection and that is what you will give him. 

“Promise me you won’t,” he says, and he is smiling now, gazing at you with what you think is adoration

(though more the sort that one has when looking at a prized item in their collection rather than a living thing)

and you eagerly nod, managing to stammer, “I-I won’t make any mistakes. I promise.”

“Good.” 

You feel the scalpel dig into your side along the bottom of your rib cage, just barely breaking the skin, and go rigid.

“Kiss me,” he says, his tone quiet but commanding, and you cautiously place your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself as you lean in, hoping he won’t consider it an act of insubordination. You freeze and inhale sharply when he stabs you, the blade slipping through flesh and muscle as blood runs down your skin.

“I-I thought you said—!” you stammer fearfully, but he interrupts you.

“This is not a punishment,” he assures you. “This is a reward.” His eyes flick down from your face to the wound he’s opening in your side as he slices through you, and you grasp his shoulders with tense and shaking fingers. “You will learn to enjoy this pain.”

You nod despite the shiver that runs down your spine. Sano waits with a patient, almost patronizing smile, for you to gather your thoughts and try again. When you timidly press your lips against his, he takes your hair in a harsh grip to angle your face the way he wants, kissing you almost violently, biting at the corner of your mouth and sucking on your tongue.

The scalpel continues to dig in, to part your skin like an unraveling seam, and you feel your blood sliding warm and red over the two of you, staining the lace. Pain sears through you but you endure it with little more than a whimper, holding onto him tightly as his lips move down from your mouth to your neck, pulling on your hair even harder so you expose your throat to him. 

He bucks his hips, grinding against you, and tears the scalpel out of your side, only to place it atop your shoulder. You try to pull away from him, to disentangle yourself long enough to take a breath at least, but he keeps a firm grip on the back of your head and chases your lips, swallowing the pained whimper that rises from your throat when he pierces your shoulder and drags the blade down your arm.

Your blood drips onto him, splattering across his chest. You feel him shudder beneath you.

Sano breaks the kiss suddenly, relinquishing his grip on your head and moving his free hand to your hip instead and digging his fingertips in. “Now,” he says, and he’s panting, his face is flushed and his skin is hot as he slides the underwear to aside to expose your entrance, “now you’re going to take me inside of you.”

You try to move, you try to lift your hips and ease yourself onto him, but your legs are shaking and he’s digging the scalpel into your shoulder again, dragging it across your back 

(blood runs down between your shoulder blades, dripping slick and hot down your backside and between your legs, and you wonder, deliriously, how much blood you have left).

His eyes glint impatiently. “You’re doing well,” he murmurs, and you feel his hand smoothing down your back, wetting his fingers in your blood as he traces invisible lines in your skin. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

It’s exactly what you need to hear calm your rapidly beating heart and ignore the pain burning at the corners of your mind and you raise your body enough to let him angle himself below you, pressing the head of his cock to your entrance slick with blood. You want to stop to rest and prepare yourself, but you know that isn’t what he wants.

(He wants you raw and broken. If you were truly made of porcelain, he would have destroyed you by now, shattered you into a million pieces so he could put you back together just the way he wants you.

And you would let him do it because you want to be the perfection that he sees.)

“There,” he urges, guiding you down onto him, “take me all the way. I know you can.”

(You want to bring his vision to life.)

“Like that.” His eyes flutter shut as he begins to cut into you again, slicing across your chest, and you panic at his shaky, lax grip, the scalpel’s path meandering and unguided as he cuts into you haphazardly. He might sever something important. He might do permanent damage. He might kill you.

You close your eyes and sink onto him, throwing your head back when you’re fully seated in his lap, his entire length inside of you.

(It would be worth it.)

Sano does not wait for you to catch your breath or adjust to his size, thrusting up into you without so much as a warning. You lose your grip on his shoulders and your hands slide down his body, nails scraping over his skin, but he doesn’t seem to care. He pulls the scalpel from your chest and drives it into your thigh in time with a harsh thrust.

Your body moves with him, chasing every sensation, starving for touch

(whether the caress of a hand or a blade, because you can no longer tell the difference between pain and pleasure)

and he gives you everything.

“Please,” you are begging without even knowing what to beg for, just a soft, plaintive, “please,” that makes him smile.

“Please what?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s teasing you.

You can’t think clearly. Everything is just sensations now, every point of contact where your skin touches his, and you almost dread it when he pulls away to rock back into you, you can’t stand the moment of separation. You hold onto him as though you are drowning,

(and maybe you are)

and you say hoarsely, “please don’t let go of me.”

His cock slams into you and he drives the scalpel further into the wound. Your blood is drying on your skin in rivulets like raindrops on a window pane. The lace is never going to be white again. 

Sano twists his wrist and turns the blade inside of you, and you moan. “I’m never letting go,” he says quietly. “What I keep, I keep forever.”

He thrusts into you, harder, 

(you don’t know what or where anymore,)

he tears you apart,

(you only know that it feels good)

he licks your blood off of your skin,

(that it’s all you want,)

he pulls you down to kiss you so you can taste it

(and you are more alive now than you have ever been).


End file.
